Crazy
by hedwig123
Summary: He stands there for another moment, then lightly puts his hand on my shoulders, and it's like I can see him morph from a father giving a pep talk into the man who's spent the past thirteen years paying for me to do this. "You won't disappoint me." "No." He nods. Then he leaves. -The 70th Annual Hunger Games. Rated T for safety. Reviews always appreciated.
1. Prologue

Tomorrow is Reaping Day.

I've been training for this for as long as I can remember. Tomorrow I will volunteer to be the District 4 female tribute in the 70th Annual Hunger Games, and I will bring pride to my district.

Across our small dinner table, my father smiles at me with something that I think is supposed to be affection. I don't know if I've ever seen the real thing. Being the daughter of a crazy woman who hung herself fifteen years ago means that I've been left with nothing but an ice-cold father and acquaintances too nervous to cross the line into friendship.

My life revolves around the Games.

When I was just four years old, my father scraped together enough money to hire a trainer for me. Ever since, I have learned new ways to fight and kill people every single day, several hours a day.

I was born to do this. My father tried to talk my mother into making me a Career tribute as soon as they knew I was coming, but it wasn't until she killed herself that he was able to follow through with it.

If I'm being honest with myself, I know it's a little bit gruesome. But District 4 is a wealthy district, where being chosen as tribute is a great honor, and our victors are all regarded as local heroes. Soon, I will be one. I won't disappoint my father, or my trainer, or my district. Because competing in the Games is what I was born to do.

My father bids me goodnight, still using his plastic voice, and not for the first time in my life I wonder what could possibly be going on in his head.

Tomorrow I will volunteer as a tribute, and within the month, I will be a victor.

It's what I was born to do.

As I slip into unconsciousness, I feel a familiar, dark, nagging feeling trying to catch my attention, but I don't let it out of the cage I've constructed to contain it. I realized a long time ago that if I let that demon out, I'd never be able to lock it up again.


	2. The Reaping

I wake up unpleasantly warm. In the early summer in District 4, it's always unpleasantly warm. Soon it will reach the point where it's downright boiling during the day.

But, I realize, I will never have to experience that again. Today I will start my journey to the Capitol, and when I return, I'll have a luxurious home in Victor's Village.

_Or you'll be dead_, a voice in the back of my head whispers.

I ignore it.

"Annie!" my father calls. "Are you up?"

"Yes," I answer. "I'm getting ready now."

I go to my tiny closet and unzip the garment bag hanging there. Inside is the dress my father purchased two months ago when my trainer decided this was the year I was ready to volunteer. It's a beautiful silky blue thing with a gently scooping neckline. The color makes me think of the place on the horizon where the sea meets the sky at midday.

Once I'm dressed, I put my own hair up and go to our small kitchen for breakfast.

My father is ready with a bowl of hot grain and a side of mixed berries for me. When I was younger, he always used to remind me to "eat all of it." He fell out of the habit as I became more responsible in taking care of my physical condition.

"Remember how to conduct yourself today," he remarks. I can tell he's unsure what he's supposed to say. So long we've both been preparing for this day, but the atmosphere is a little surreal now that it's actually here.

"Of course, Father," I reply. I know the mechanics of the Games better than the back of my hand.

When the time comes for us to walk to the square, we move with a small distance between us. He leaves to join the audience with a slight nod of farewell, and I go sign in.

It's really rather pointless how many slips of paper each person has in the Reaping ball, at least here in 4. There are always volunteers, sometimes more than one, if the trainers do not agree on which of their pupils deserves a chance at the glory. My trainer assured me that I was the best candidate this year, though. All the other girls considered were at least two years younger than me. At 17, with over twelve years of daily lessons, my trainer said choosing me was a no-brainer for he and his peers.

I go to stand with a group of 17-year-olds, none of whom I know. Most of them are from the merchant class. Careers are usually a pretty even mix between the merchants and the fishing families-my trainer once let slip that the merchants had more money, but the fishermen's children had a better chance of winning. I come from the latter.

Currently, there are only two male escorts working for the Games. We have one of them. His name is Cassius, and this year his suit is a bright shade of turquoise that actually hurts the eyes a little. He's appeared on the stage now, with the mayor, and our living victors. In 69 years of Games, we have won eleven times. Six females, and five males. In fact, District 4 won the very first Hunger Games. That victor died a few years ago, however, and we've lost one other, so there are currently four female and five male victors.

We last won five years ago, at the 65th Games. I can see that victor now, Finnick Odair, projected on one of the screens. Of course, the people watching will want to see him. Especially in the Capitol. He is ridiculously good-looking, with bronze hair and blue-green eyes exactly the color of the sea. I've never met him, but I've seen him from a distance plenty of times. He must be a real charmer, not just because he has so many romantic companions every time he visits the Capitol, but because whenever I've seen him talking to someone, the other person is either smiling or laughing.

Now, the mayor steps up to welcome us and read the Treaty of the Treason. It's very boring, listening to the history and structure of the Games, because I've had it memorized since I was a small child. Then he lists all the victors District 4 has had, something else I have memorized.

Then it's Cassius's turn. The mayor introduces him to polite applause, and he talks about what an honor it is to be here. It is an honor for him to be here. Because District 4 is a Career district, we are a hot commodity among the escorts. I remember that Cassius used to be in District 6, and, my trainer told me, he had to start out in District 10. Capitol employees, like the escorts, have to work their way up to us.

Cassius cues the short propaganda film from the Capitol, which talks more about the history and glory of the Games, and which is also quite dull to me. As with the Treaty, I have all the film's information memorized.

Finally, it's time.

"Now, it's time to select one brave young man and woman to represent District 4 in the 70th Annual Hunger Games," Cassius says with a smile. "As always, ladies first!"

He crosses the stage to the girls' reaping ball. I have always had a slight nagging worry that I would have to take the honor of being chosen away from someone who really wanted it, but my fears were in vain. He calls a small 14-year-old from one of the poorest fishing families, and she looks downright terrified. It's pointless. She must know she won't actually be going.

"Do we have any volunteers?"

I step forward calmly.

I was born to do this.


	3. Goodbyes

I wait in the Justice Building for my father to say goodbye to me.

Absentmindedly, I play with the old silver bracelet on my wrist. It's been in my mother's family for generations. It looks good for its age, thankfully, so my trainer said I could use it as my district token. It keeps me calm.

The rest of the Reaping ceremony went smoothly. My district partner is an 18-year-old redhead named Manus, who volunteered for another 18-year-old. There wasn't any conflict over who would get his spot, either. When he shook my hand, his eyes were flat. No emotion. Not angry or hateful, just blocked off. It's an expression I'm very used to. In fact, I'm fairly certain it was the same look I was giving him.

This is the nicest room I've ever been in, even though I know I'll see nicer in a matter of hours. This one has simple but elegant furnishings. On one wall there is a mirror. I can see that my brown hair is still in place, pinned back in a knot. As always, I can't help noticing how common my eyes are. Plain green, perfectly round. I can name twenty other people with eyes exactly like mine off the top of my head. I don't know why I always notice this. It shouldn't be a big deal. It's just another one of those things that inexplicably nags at me.

We have an hour to say our goodbyes to loved ones. No one is going to come and see me besides my father, I'm sure. It probably is my own fault that I don't have any close friends. I've just never really been able to connect with the rest of them.

The door opens, and my father enters. There's an awkward space between us that's not awkward because it's so familiar. We don't say anything for a few moments, then he starts talking.

"Remember your training. You're prepared for this. You're prepared for anything they throw at you. You'll win as long as you remember your lessons."

I nod.

"Do what your mentor, stylist, and escort tell you. They know how to handle the preparation week."

I nod again.

"You'll get to meet your mentor on the train, correct?"

"Yes."

"Good." He stands there for another moment, then lightly puts his hand on my shoulders, and it's like I can see him morph from a father giving a pep talk into the man who's spent the past thirteen years paying for me to do this. "You won't disappoint me."

"No."

He nods. Then he leaves.

I sit down on the couch and wait for them to come and escort me to the train.

When they do come for me, I am composed, but I can feel that dark thing starting to nag at me again. I refuse to acknowledge it, though. I just smile at the cameras pointed at me, feeling my eyes block off again.

Finally, the train door shuts and Manus walks into the dining car. I stay at the window for a moment, though, getting one more glimpse of my home before Cassius ushers me off to lunch, too.

As prepared as I am, I still get a shock at the sight of all the delicacies laid out on the table. And the people sitting at the table. Eight of the nine living District 4 victors are here, though only two are mentors. The other six must be coming as guests. I still haven't been told which one is mentoring me, but I'm guessing that's why we're having lunch with them.

I'm seated across from Cassius and right next to Finnick Odair himself. I honestly thought I was prepared for any instance, but this is bizarre. Finnick Odair is sitting next to me. I'm not even one of his crazy fans, but he's still one of the most famous men in Panem. And he's sitting next to me. Eating a salad.

I start eating before anyone can notice how very un-composed I suddenly feel.

Cassius starts chattering on about what our next steps will be. Most of it is old news, but, at last, he says: "And, of course, the two of you _must _be wondering who your mentors will be!"

By this point, half the victors have left the table without comment, and we've worked our way to dessert. It's a chocolate pie with whipped cream and chocolate chips on top, and it's the best thing I've ever tasted, but at Cassius's remark I set down my fork for a moment to look at him expectantly. Manus is doing the same.

"Well, Manus, you will be mentored by Jessamyn," Cassius gestures to the middle-aged redheaded woman sitting next to him. "And Annie, your mentor will be Finnick."

I blink and look to my left. My new mentor waves at me with his fork.

Automatically, I start calculating how this will affect my odds, the way my trainer taught me to. Finnick is the youngest victor, so he has the least experience as a mentor. He's never brought a tribute home, though, of course, he's only had a few opportunities so far. But he's the most popular victor in Panem at the moment. He will be able to get me sponsors easily. That, at least, is a huge plus.

Cassius starts talking about what our mentors do for us, but I'm not listening. I know what mentors do. Even tributes from the poorer districts know. They give you advice, get you sponsors, and try to send you what you need in the arena. It's simple, really.

Eventually, the table is cleared. Manus and Jessamyn go off somewhere to have their first strategy discussion, and Cassius has to check on something or other, so I'm left alone with Finnick.

We sit there quietly for a moment, but somehow it's less awkward with this famous stranger than it is with my own father. He's just that much of a charmer.

"So," he finally states. "Congratulations."

There's a little too much sarcasm in his tone.

"Thank you," I respond anyway. "It's an honor."

"Absolutely." Definitely sarcastic. "So, anyway, my advice for now is pretty simple. Smile for the cameras, do what your stylist tells you, and try to look intimidating in front of the other tributes."

"That sounds easy enough."

"That's because it is. Now let's go watch the Reaping recap."

I follow him to another car, where he opens the door to a living area with several couches and a TV. He holds the door to let me through first.

None of this should feel strange. I've been preparing for this opportunity my whole life. But it's still surreal to see the rest of my opponents on the screen. Two very good-looking tributes from 1. A fierce girl and giant boy from 2. Two who look underfed but not completely hopeless from 3. Manus and I. 12-year-old boys from both 7 and 12, and a girl from 9 who somehow radiates intelligence. None of the others stick out to me, which is good. If they don't stick out to me, they won't stick out to the audience.

When I finally go to sleep that night, it's harder than usual to keep the dark thing locked in its cage. But I do it.


	4. Redrawn

I really, really hate the color pink.

It's a color I usually see back in the small sweet shop in District 4 (not that I've ever been allowed to have anything that unhealthy). It's also the color of exposed flesh, which I'm honestly not that fond of seeing (that was always a source of amusement for my trainer). Worst of all, it's the color of the demure and delicate female, which I know I can never be (not just because I'm a Career, but because I'm too socially incompetent to be demure even if I tried).

Right now, it's the color of the woman ripping the hair off my arm. Literally. This woman has dyed herself hot pink. I find it freakish, but it's clearly commonplace here in the Capitol.

"There!" she exclaims, as if she's discovered the lost city of Atlantis. "That's all of it!"

Her name is Aeliana. She, along with two other women named Regula and Vibiana, make up my prep team. In addition to her pink skin, she's wearing a short blue wig that coordinates exactly with her dress. She looks like bubblegum. Regula seems more fond of metallics-her hair is spiky and gold and she's got about a hundred silver bangles on her wrists. Finally, there's Vibiana, who has her lips and eyes outlined in a very bright red, and a black spiderweb tattoo on the right side of her face.

I knew the prep work wasn't going to be enjoyable, but I didn't expect it to be this irritating. I don't resist in the slightest, though. I know how necessary it is to meet Capitol standards of appearance.

Finally done with the waxing, they rub me down with an awful-smelling lotion and step back to take another look at me.

"Perfect!" Vibiana exclaims. Why are they so excited about _everything_? "Lamya will be happy!"

"Let's call her now!" Regula agrees. To me, she says, "She'll be right in to meet you."

They scurry from the room, leaving me standing there. I have no desire to look in the mirror, so I look at the ceiling. Everything here has been perfected. The ceiling is white and smooth without a mark. The floor is dark and polished hardwood. There isn't a spot on the mirrors or a hair out of place on my prep team, even after the extensive session with me. Now I've been perfected, too, I guess.

The door opens again and I turn to see a woman who's probably in her late thirties, though it's hard to tell with the work I know they do here. Her hair is a normal dark red, but twisted up into an elaborate, sculpted style. She's wearing a green suit.

She gives me a quick once over and then smiles in a way that's supposed to be friendly.

"Hello, Annie," she greets me. "I'm Lamya. Go ahead and put your robe on so we can talk."

Four hours later, I am being dressed in a somewhat ridiculous seaweed creation. It has two pieces. The bottom is basically just a normal, short skirt (made out of seaweed). The top covers my chest and upper back, and has one piece of seaweed winding around my left arm like a sleeve. My stomach is bare, "to show off your physique," according to Lamya. She's not unbearable, but she's definitely not my new best friend.

My hair is braided up (again, with seaweed wound into it) and my face is done with dramatic makeup. Finally, I put on golden heels with straps that twist halfway up my calves.

I am pronounced perfect by Lamya and the prep team, and Cassius comes to lead me to the stables of the Remake Center. At the chariot, with District 4's chocolate brown horses already in place, I find Manus dressed similarly to me, but with no top piece or any seaweed in his hair.

Before I can offer any comment, the doors have opened and the District 1 chariot is moving out of the room. Cassius almost has a panic attack over our unprepared state, exclaiming "Up, up, up!" to the two of us before the chariot is even out of sight.

I climb into the chariot, using my plant-covered arm to hold me steady.

"So," Manus remarks nonchalantly. "Seaweed."

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" I respond, slightly surprised he's addressed me at all.

"Tell me about it."

The chariot starts moving, cutting off our awkward conversation. Then we're moving through the city, and the sight of the crowd stuns me for an instant before my training kicks in.

I know how important crowd popularity is in the Games. Just look at Finnick. Popularity with the crowd almost always means popularity with the sponsors, and sponsors can be the difference between life and death in the arena. So I smile at the roar of the thousands upon thousands of people gathered to get a look at us, and blow a few kisses. They like me, and a few must already love me, I can tell. This is exactly what I need.

Finally, we reach the City Circle. Our chariot stops and it takes several minutes for the rest of the pairs to catch up. When they do, I get a look at them. Most of the costumes are standard, but District 12 looks even worse than they usually do. They always have the worst costumes, some sort of skimpy outfit with headlamps, but this year they're just covered in black powder. With no clothes. It's attention-grabbing, but I doubt that that's the kind of attention anyone wants.

I turn my attention to the balcony above us. So do the cameras. President Snow appears to make his opening speech. He gives the same speech every year, but strangely it's very different to see it here in person. He's so much more... intimidating.

He goes on for a few minutes about the Games, and our nation's history, and congratulates the tributes on this great honor. Then the chariots move off into the Training Center.

I'm greeted by my stylist and prep team, and Finnick appears, too. Cassius is on the other side of the chariot with Manus. They're all very positive about my performance out there.

I gravitate automatically towards my mentor as opposed to the Capitol women, and he seems to understand. He puts a hand lightly on my shoulder and leads me toward the elevators, my team trailing us.

"If you're worried that I'm going to ditch you this week to go find a new paramour, don't," he says out of nowhere.

"I wasn't that worried, honestly," I reply uncertainly.

"People tend to think I have more girlfriends than I actually do, but that's mainly because all of my friends are girls."

"Why?"

He blinks. "Why what?"

"Why are all of your friends girls?"

"Oh. That's because most men just hate me on sight."

I let out a shocked laugh. "Why?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You know why."

I guess I do. He's the most handsome man in Panem. It would be hard for another man to be around that. But as I walk to the room that Cassius says is mine, I feel an inexplicable wave of pity for Finnick Odair.


	5. Tough

"Choose your stations wisely."

The head Capitol trainer, a woman named Atala, has been briefing us on the training procedure for the past ten minutes. That was her closing statement.

I immediately head over to the distance-weapons station. My main weapons are going to be throwing knives. I could never really develop enough upper-body strength to excel with swords or tridents, but my aim is quite good. I've also been trained for harpoons and the bow and arrow.

Before I can even start throwing, I'm joined by the tributes from District 1. This is standard. All six Career tributes make an alliance to take out the weaker players at the start of the game. Eventually, of course, the alliance has to end, but not for the first several days. Until it does, we'll be feigning friendship.

The girl has blond curls that have been cut short into a bob, and blue eyes. The boy also has blue eyes, but dark brown hair that's almost black. They're also both exceedingly good-looking. This morning I went over the stats with Cassius, so I know that they're both 18, older than me.

"Hi," the girl greets me, with a smile that's just a little bit predatory. "I'm Silk." She picks up a silver bow and inspects the different sheaths of arrows. I've seen the name Silk on at least one other tribute from District 1. It's a common name from there, probably because it was the name of their first female victor.

I nod. "Annie." I remember Finnick's advice, and throw a knife at one of the target dummies after I say my name. Right in the heart.

"And I'm Calico," the boy says, his smile a little nicer than Silk's, but I think he's just a better actor. He takes a spear from the rack and sends it flying straight through a dummy's head.

At lunch that first day, the tributes from 1, 2, and 4 push a couple tables together to sit and discuss the competition. I am quiet, sitting on Manus's left and observing my opponents with an expression of cool disinterest.

The boy from 2 is named Nikias. He's at least 6'5" and heavily muscled, with fairly average facial features, brown hair, and brown eyes. He's also the loudest at our table, exuding arrogance and confidence. His district partner is a 16-year-old named Gwendolen. She laughs and brags right along with him, flipping her dark blonde hair back over her shoulder.

Manus, interestingly enough, is almost as quiet as I am. He is clearly going for intimidation in his silence. I, on the other hand, would like to think that I am preserving a wise silence. I probably have the least physical strength of the six of us, so I have to seem tough in other ways.

As Nikias's comments on his own invincibility start to get a little too repetitive, I start looking at the other tributes, trying to see if any of them will be competition. It's slim pickings, but there are a few who stand out. The girl from 9 is eating calmly, watching the rest of us. Kind of like I am. I remember from her stats that she's just 15, but she looks stronger and healthier than tributes from the outlying districts usually are. On the other hand, I know the odds aren't in her favor because the victor last year was the girl from 9, and the odds of the same outlying district winning two years in a row are slim to none.

Among the others, there's little confidence. The boy from 9 actually looks strong, as well, but he's staring dejectedly at his plate, hardly eating. His type is always the first eliminated. The ones who give up before the Games even start. As for the rest of them, both the tributes from 3, the boy from 6, and the girl from 7 seem to be in the least deteriorated physical state.

After lunch, Gwendolen and I head over to the hand-to-hand combat. The other tributes give us a wide berth, so I guess the intimidation is working.

The main trainer, a 20-something man named Linus, takes us to one of the rings immediately. I get to go first.

"Now, Annie, with your stature, you should make sure to use your opponent's own weight against them," he tells me, feinting left. I nod. I know this. I know he knows that I know this. He doesn't try to give me any more advice, just lunges towards me. In about two seconds he's flat on his back.

And the strangest thing happens to me.

I've got him pinned, with my knees on his shoulders and feet at his wrists, when the cage in the back of my head rattles violently. And it's almost as if the demon in there sends out a miniature version of himself through the bars, darkening my mood and my thoughts. My hands turn clammy as Linus congratulates me on a job well done, and my head is spinning slightly as I get up to let Gwendolen have her turn. I feel sick.

I force myself back into composure, suddenly realizing that the weakness must be showing on my face. I leave Gwendolen and go over to the edible plants station. All I need is a short break from the weaponry, and I'll be fine, I'm sure. I just have to mollify the demon enough to get him to leave me alone again.

Sometimes, during my training back home, the demon in the cage would do something like this, but it was never this strong before. I force myself to focus on what the trainer is saying, instead of the dark path my thoughts are trying to take after that little incident. Once, when I was twelve, I followed that path for a little ways as I waited for my father to come walk me home. I'm not going to make that mistake twice.

Representing my district in the Games is what I was born to do.

I'll be fine.


	6. Miss

"Annie Cresta," a woman's voice says robotically.

I stand up and make my way into the gym. I've been waiting almost two hours, watching the tributes from 1, 2, and 3 go in, followed by Manus. I run my fingers over my mother's bracelet, trying to soothe my nerves.

I glance up at the Gamemakers as I take just a moment to decide which station to visit first. I have their full attention. They know what being a Career tribute means, even if they can't admit it publicly. I'm a top contender already.

I go to the distance weapons station and select several knives of varying sizes, easily clipping a few to the belt at my waist.

I don't look at the Gamemakers. I look at the training dummies.

I'm a good 40 feet away from the target. I aim with one of the larger knives, which takes me just a second.

The knife hits the dummy straight in the heart. I sigh in relief, then get down to business.

I get two knives in each hand, back up about five more feet, and throw all four rapidly. Four bullseyes.

I eventually end up 60 feet away, replenishing my supply, and hit five targets in about three seconds.

Finally, I chance a glance up at the Gamemakers. They're nodding to themselves, almost all of them taking notes, a couple of them grinning.

And the oddest feeling comes over me. A feeling of excitement that somehow feels like it's not coming from me, even though it clearly is. Where else could it have originated from? Fake excitement that I'm using to fool myself...

I grab a harpoon off the rack, get in position, and take aim.

I miss by about two inches.

All through training, I've managed to control that awful feeling that overwhelmed me on the first day. I have it buried deep again, but I bury it deeper, because it's never been more important that I concentrate on my duty than right now.

I don't risk another glance at the Gamemakers.

And I don't miss again.

* * *

That evening, I sit on the plush couch next to Finnick. I'm playing with my bracelet too much, and my nerves must be obvious, because he places his hand on mine in a gesture meant to comfort me. For some reason, though, it just adds to my anxiety in a foreign way.

"You'll be fine," he says. "They know who you are, even if they can't admit it." It's funny how I thought almost exactly the same thing this afternoon, and it still doesn't calm me.

"You're ready," he assures me again, before Manus and Jessamyn join us at the television, effectively cutting off our mentor-tribute reassurance session.

Lamya and Cassius end up on my other side on the large couch (Manus and Jessamyn took individual chairs, as did his stylist) and we watch the short preamble to the scores, no one saying a word.

Caesar Flickerman, the main Games TV host, appears on screen, a smile plastered to his face and his hair and eyelids dyed bright silver.

"And now," he declares dramatically, "it's time for this year's training scores. Again, the Gamemakers would like us to remind the audience that the entire group of tributes is exceptional, and their actions in the arena can differ from their actions in training."

He lifts the paper in front of him with a flourish.

"First off, from District One. Calico, with a score of... 10."

He pauses, letting the viewers at home absorb this.

"From District One. Silk, with a score of... 9."

Another pause.

"From District Two. Nikias, with a score of... 10."

Pause.

"From District Two. Gwendolen, with a score of... 10."

Pause.

"From District Three. Koios, with a score of... 5."

Pause.

"From District Three. Asenath, with a score of... 5."

Pause.

"From District Four. Manus, with a score of... 9."

Jessamyn, Cassius, and Manus's stylist offer him a few quiet congratulations, but are careful not to talk over the television.

"From District Four. Annie, with a score of... 8."

Terror strangles me. This is the lowest Career score. It's only a matter of one or two points, this should be an obvious overreaction, but I can't fight it off. Through the buzzing in my ears I hear Finnick, Lamya, and Cassius congratulating me, this is a perfectly normal Career score, but it's the lowest one this year. There's no getting around that. Why can't they see that?

I curl into myself, grabbing at my mother's bracelet so hard that it hurts my wrist, and watch the rest of the scores, not even acknowledging my team.

The intelligent-looking girl from 9, whose name is Melinda, gets a 9.

An _outlying district_ tribute got a higher score than me.

"Annie, you're looking a little pale. You barely ate anything at dinner," Cassius frets, clearly about to launch into some sort of speech about the importance of a hearty diet this close to the Games. But Finnick cuts him off.

"I'll make sure she gets something more to eat. She'll be fine." Finnick takes me by the arm, putting a stop to any of the others' attempts at getting me to converse.

"You're fine. And 8 is a normal score," he says, sounding almost as robotic as the woman on the intercom at the gym.

Deciding my best course is to state the obvious, I reply, "It's the lowest of the Career scores."

"It's still a Career score."

"That's a crap answer."

He stops us outside my room. He's glaring at me.

"What do you want me to say? You know the scores aren't everything. You did well at the tribute parade, and you'll do well at your interview tomorrow. In fact, people pretty much forget the scores a day into the arena. You're a Career. You're good. They know it. And they'll see it for themselves once you're in there." He's still glaring, daring me to contradict him, but I know he's right.

Even as irritated as he is, he's still devilishly—and distractingly—handsome. He's kept his promise not to abandon me for one of his flings, so far, but there is a decent amount of time when I'm training during the day and sleeping at night for him to sneak away without my notice.

Almost as if he's reading my mind, he drops my arm like he's been burned. "Order something to eat, then get a good night's sleep. That's an order."

He stalks away and all of a sudden I'm sure he has somewhere else he has to be.

I order and eat a ham sandwich, anyway, because he's right about the food, too. Falling asleep afterwards, instead of dwelling on my training score, I'm dwelling on his retreat.

The latter is actually even more troubling.


End file.
